Behind the Mask
by Lapsing-Sanity
Summary: Lucina's take on the story of Fire Emblem: Awakening. (There is at least one OC involved.)
1. Chapter 1

_I was there to witness the End. I remember too well the flames consuming everything, the screaming of a thousand- no, a million- souls in endless torment. I watched, helpless and driven to near madness, as hordes of the undead slaughtered entire families. The air was thick with the cries of children who would never again see the sun._

_Then came the laughing. It was a terrible, screeching cry of triumph, straight from the fanged maw of Death himself. Trembling with crazed power, the sound echoed through the black cloud of endless night, conveying its dark message over and over:_

_"I have won. I have won."_

The grass is wet with early morning dew, sparkling and cool beneath my fingers. Despite the warmth from the springtime sun, a shiver shakes my entire body like a sheet of ice sliding down the back of my tunic. I try to comfort myself with the knowledge that I am safe now, that the dangers of the future I fled are not here, in this time and place. Still, the thoughts of that future weight heavy on my heart; the path of time cannot always be diverted. What if I fail?

No. I sit up, drawing my dragonhide bag closer and rummaging through it. Procuring my mask from where I had hidden it away, I run my fingers over its elaborate surface for a few seconds before placing it over by eyes and tucking my hair back into it. I will not fail. I cannot fail. A quick trip to the lake allows me to glimpse at my reflection; when I peer down at its glimmering surface, a strange boy stares back. Strands of hair fall over the disguise obscuring the light of his eyes, the royal blue color standing as the only thing to identify the frightened young woman beneath.

I stand, unable to look down at this stranger any longer. My hands move diligently to gather my belongings and store them, fastening my father's sword at my waist. I will go into town today; though I may be a survivor, I am tired of running for days on end without a proper meal. There is enough left of his morning for me to reach civilization by the time the sun reaches the top of its arc, and enough gold in my pocket for bread and soup, if not more.

As I walk, my mind begins to swirl with the thoughts I have tried to keep at bay. I wonder what I am going to do when, at long last, I cannot avoid my father any longer. I already ran away from him once, when we met in Ylisse, and that was one time too many. In truth, I fear having to explain who I am to him and the rest. What if he refuses to accept me when his real daughter from this time is still only a baby back at home, awaiting his and Mother's return? How can I keep those I love safe from such a distance?

"Stop it," I tell myself aloud, pressing my fingertips to my temples as my head starts to throb. "You can't focus on the negatives. Think about your task now. You are walking into town, not worrying yourself with foolish thoughts."

By now the sun has crept higher in the sky and the scattered trees are giving way to grassy meadow. As the town grows nearer, though I realize that something is not right. When the scent of smoke reaches my nose I break into a run.

The town is burning. Tongues of bright orange lick at the structures, threatening to devastate everything in their path. The villagers rush frantically about, splashing their every source of water onto the fire, but the flames spread faster than they can douse them. Worse still, I notice several dark shapes blundering through with torches and rusty iron weapons in hand, eyes glowing with an unreal red light. The Risen have come, smashing through the homes and shops with thoughtless brutality.

"Help! Dear Naga, help us!" cries a woman with an infant clutched to her breast, cowering beside the smoldering remains of a market stand. In a flash of movement, Falchion is in my hand and I race to her aid. The first swing of my sword is badly timed and only succeeds in forcing her assailant backwards, but the second has it twitching on the cobblestone in two pieces before its ravaged body sublimates into a ghastly purple vapor. Two more of the revenant warriors are foolish enough to approach and meet a similar fate. These Risen are nothing like the powerful, bloodthirsty packs from my own time; they pose no more of a threat than common thugs. Exterminating them is as easy as dealing with pesky mice that run blindly into traps, never learning their lesson even as countless comrades meet their demise before their very eyes.

"Thank you, thank you," the woman repeats over and over, trying to hush her wailing child and looking quite close to tears herself. Without so much as a word in response, I move to assist the townsfolk carrying buckets of water to quench the fire. Upturning my pail on top of a charred fence with a sizzling hiss, I turn just in time to catch a girl as she trips, holding out one arm to support her and the other to steady the bucket before too much water can slosh out.

"I'm sorry," she quickly apologizes. When she looks up to see my face mere inches from hers, a red hue streaks across her cheeks. She pulls away, nearly falling again but managing to straighten herself at the last second. "I-I... sorry," she squeaks again. "Er... I'm Nyna."

I say nothing; Nyna gives me an almost disappointed look and asks, "Are you going to tell me your name?"

"If you must," I respond impatiently. "Call me Marth."

A light of recognition creeps into her eyes. "Oh, you mean like the king from a long time ago?"

Again, I refrain from speaking and return to the well for more water, even though the rest of the townsfolk are already handling what is left of the fire. Nyna follows, still chattering like an excited squirrel:

"You know, with all I've seen lately, I wouldn't be surprised if you were the same one. We've got all these living corpses, so why not- gods, is that Falchion?" She has switched from cheerful grinning to open-mouthed gaping in a matter of milliseconds. "Alright, Mr. Mysterious Hero, you now have me convinced. You're one of those zombies. Is that why you're wearing a mask? Have you got glow-y eyes as well?"

For a moment, I consider telling her the truth, if only to silence her, but my common sense immediately overrules any thoughts of mentioning time travel. Instead, I content myself with telling her, "They're called Risen, and I am not one of them."

"You would say that." Mischief laces her tone, her insistence on continuing to tease me a clear sign of her oblivion to my dwindling patience. She seems not to notice when I increase my pace, at least until she realizes that I am turning onto the path back to the woods.

"Hey," she protests, running to stand in front of me. "Where are you going?"

"I must leave." Unflinching from the accusation in her stare, I brush past her with little courtesy.

"Rude! Hasn't anyone ever taught you the proper way to treat a lady?" Her indignation reminds me of someone I know, but at the moment I am unable to put my finger on whom that is.

"My job here is finished."

"Okay," she says with certainty. "Then I'm coming with you."

"No. Absolutely not." My right hand grips the hilt of Falchion, fidgeting as it always does when I feel uncomfortable. I know who she makes me think of now. Her personality is a mix of Lady Maribelle's constant demand for respect and the swiftness of my Aunt Lissa to argue with everything she is told.

"Too bad, because you aren't getting rid of me." I stop, and she stands in front of me again, planting her feet firmly as if to prove that nothing I say is going to change her mind.

"It is unsafe," I hiss. "Go home and stay with your family."

"What family? My mother's been dead for years and my father can't stand the sight of clumsy, useless me." For the briefest of moments I detect bitterness edging her tone, then it is gone, melted into the bright-eyed expression that I now know to be as deceiving as the persona I wear. I cannot say if it is the sorrow in her verdant gaze during that split second or the knowledge that I have as good as lost this argument that finally leads me to relent.

"Stay beside me at all times," I instruct my newfound companion as we retrace my path through the woods. So far she seems to be hanging onto my every word, but I know it will take more than a lecture to keep her in line. Still, her willingness to listen is a sign that I may have underestimated her. "If the Risen attack us, you are to let me handle it."

"Hold on," Nyna interrupts. "Aren't you going to teach me how to fight?"

"I will," I reply, gritting my teeth. "But there would be no point in doing so if you were to be killed in your first encounter."

"I can take a couple of zombies!" To enforce her point, she jabs at a tree with a loose branch, which proceeds to break in two with a dry snap.

"What about ten?" I watch with little humor as she waves her hand animatedly, yanking a splinter from the flesh of her palm and flinging it into the undergrowth.

"And stay there!" she shouts after it, wincing and wiping the wounded hand against her graying apron. If a mere splinter bothers her this much, she has a long way to go, I think, broadening my stride without quite realizing it while Nyna skips to keep up.

We continue like this for some measure of time, with Nyna sulking in a sort of defeated silence and finally allowing me to think without disturbance. Then, as the sinking sun begins to cast colors across the sky, she suddenly stops, forcing me to pause as well.

"What is it?" I demand, expecting the barrage of complaints that she has been holding back since we left the village.

To my surprise, she raises a finger to point and says, "Look. Is that a camp?"

My attention turns in the direction she is indicating, to the left of where we stand. I glimpse tents through the trees, an entire setup that I somehow failed to notice before.

"That was not there this morning," I mutter, though I am uncertain. Maybe I passed it by earlier, as I almost did just now.

"Let's go find out who's there!" She grabs my hand and gives it a commanding tug. I reluctantly allow her to take the lead, but not before I see it: the brand on the side of one of the tents, the unmistakable emblem of the Halidom of Ylisse.


	2. Chapter 2

"This is wrong," I grumble under my breath. My legs cry out in protest to the awkward crouching position I have forced them into. "Nyna, do you have any idea how much trouble we could get in if we are spotted?"

"Silly Marth," Nyna whispers back in an infuriatingly sweet voice. "That's why we're hiding."

"What if we are seen? We could be mistaken for Plegian spies!"

"Plegians would make more of an effort not to alert the entire forest to their presence," grunts a sudden and new voice behind us. Nyna reacts with a muffled shriek of surprise, clapping a hand over her mouth. I rise slowly to my feet, beckoning for her to keep quiet and do the same. The frowning face that greets us is all too familiar, as is the deadly silver pike clutched in the figure's hand.

"Frederick, what's going on here?" Again, Nyna jumps as yet another new figure approaches, brushing overgrown branches out of his way. "I heard a shout."

"It seems we have a couple of troublemakers, milord," reports the knight, holding his dark stare on the wildly blushing Nyna.

"Prince Chrom?" she blurts out. "This is your- I mean, you-?!" She seems at a loss for words. Shaking her head fervently, she steps behind me as if to shield herself. Despite her easygoing and playful attitude with me, it seems that when faced by royalty, she loses her edge.

My father seems to be less interested in her, instead fixing me with a questioning stare. I can guess at what is going on in his head; he is still unsure whether he can trust me, thinking back to the warning I gave him the last time we met.

"You still haven't answered me," he says, speaking slowly as if uncertain of what to say, like his voice and his thoughts are moving at different paces. "Who are you?" 

"Some questions must not be answered until the right time is at hand." I begin to turn my back to him. "Nyna, we are leaving."

With a jerk of the reins, Frederick brings his horse to block our path.

"Let them go..." Chrom shakes his head.

"Milord, they are trespassing. Perhaps it would be wise to-"

"No. Alek trusts this Marth, and so do I. He saved Lissa, remember? We owe him a debt."

Though he would clearly love to argue his point further, Frederick doesn't dare continue to contradict his prince. Narrowing his eyes with irritation, he pulls aside and allows us to pass. I can feel Chrom's bewildered stare burning into me long after we have left the camp behind.

"I should never have agreed to bring you along." A bird takes flight with a startled cry when I send a rock tumbling into the brush with a vicious kick.

"Are you really mad?" An appalled expression sneaks onto her features. She twists her fingers together and stares at the pine needles scattered around her feet. "Why? We aren't even in trouble. Where's the damage?"

To be perfectly honest, even I don't know what is making me so angry. Nyna is right- no harm was done. I am almost about to apologize for my outburst when she speaks again:

"You think I'm stupid, don't you? You think I'm just another village idiot. Well, news flash, Marth: I'm not!"

"What?!" I sputter, my voice leaping dangerously high in my fury. I take a threatening stride forward, feeling an awful pang of triumph when the girl flinches away. "This isn't about your intelligence! Father has enough to worry about without you poking your nose where it doesn't belong!"

Following my words is a deadly silence, and I immediately know that my mistake has not gone unnoticed. I can see Nyna thinking, slowly connecting the pieces of her invisible puzzle.

"You said... 'Father'..." she murmurs. "You didn't say 'Chrom', you said 'Father'."

"No. No, I did not. Why would I say that?"

Nyna is not convinced by my false confusion. "Liar," she says coldly. "I know that you're lying. I'm not even sure if I can trust you enough to ask what else you aren't telling me." Her forest-green eyes are glittering with the beginnings of tears, twin pools of anger and hurt.

I have no choice. Though I may have just met Nyna, I cannot lose the closest thing to a friend that I have met thus far. I will tell her what she wants to hear.

"Chrom is my father, but he does not know this yet," I begin. "My mother is a Shepherd, the future princess of Ylisse." Then, seeing that she has no intention of interjecting, I proceed to reveal the entire story of my past- her grim future- with the exception of my true identity. If she is content to see me as Marth the prince, I will not destroy that image.

When I finish, Nyna leans against a tree as if about to be sick.

"Why couldn't you tell me?" she asks. "I believe you- I would believe almost anything now- but why?"

"Has it not occurred to you that there are some secrets that should never be revealed?" Part of me wants to comfort her, but I cannot bring myself to touch her. I stand by and let her recover on her own, looking on while she absorbs the full impact of the revelation.

Finally, she gives a slow nod. "Okay," she says. "I was right."

"About what?" I lean forward, bracing for another verbal assault. Rather than appearing angry, though, Nyna is beaming with triumph.

"You need me, future-boy. Otherwise you're never gonna get close to Pr- er, your dad." her expression twists as if she has swallowed something and is unable to decide whether or not she enjoys the taste.

This time, I offer her an almost grateful look. "Alright, you can stay. Maybe your recklessness isn't such a bad thing." She opens her mouth, about to make a smug interjection, but I stop the words before they can escape: "I would rather not see you killed, though, so can you do me a favor and please try to do as I say once in awhile?"

"Maybe. If you're nice." She winks in a manner that brings unwanted heat to my face.

I clear my throat uneasily. "I was going into town in search of a meal this morning. Due to... certain complications... I still have not eaten. I assume you will be accompanying me?"

"Not leaving you for a second, Your Royal Timeyness."

"Please... no nicknames."

This walk is considerably more enjoyable than the last, at least for Nyna. The girl spends the entirety of it engaging in nonstop chatter, most of which I choose to tune out completely.

She does manage to catch my attention once, though, when she asks, "Why don't you take off your mask? I know who you are, so what's left to hide?"

"This mask is important to me," I reply vaguely. "I will not remove it."

"Okay..." Reluctantly, she allows the conversation to fall into dormancy. We weave through a crowd of people entering town alongside us, surveying carts and stands piled with goods.

"Medicinal cream!" calls a robed woman, holding a smooth hand out as if to plead with Nyna. "Keep that pretty face of yours looking nice and young, eh?"

I pull Nyna away before she can fall victim to temptation, reminding her that what we need is food.

"I know," she grumps. "I lived in a market town, remember? Half these things don't even work. Magic remedies? Hah!"

As I exchange a couple of gold pieces for a fresh loaf of bread and a lump of creamy white cheese, I question her, "Do you not believe in magic?"

"No," Nyna answers bluntly. We make our way to another stand, where I pass more gold to a vendor and receive a large, steaming bowl of soup. "I've always heard stories about mages and stuff. Fairytales and wishful thinking."

Settling near a well-tended flower garden, I tear the warm bread into two pieces and hand one to Nyna, who dunks it straight into the soup.

"Oh?" I eat with less abandon than she, pulling apart my half into small parts. It intrigues me, that this girl can have lived her entire life with no belief in sorcery. "Would you believe me, then, if I said I knew a few mages myself?"

"Sure." Her portion of bread has already diminished to crumbs on the skirt of her dress, which she brushes into the dust to be snatched by birds. "If you introduced me to them, maybe."

"They are Shepherds," I say without thinking. "Of course, they have not met me yet, but I will know them-"

"When you stop running away," Nyna finishes for me. "Don't think I couldn't guess what you were thinking there. You're not a total enigma, Marth. I can read you- without magic," she adds, a smirk beginning to play across her features.


	3. Chapter 3

It was Nyna's idea in the first place, to challenge the champion of Regna Ferox. The only reason I agreed was my own curiosity and, admittedly, the speculation that my father will eventually show in time for the regular quarrel over leadership of Ferox. After all, there have been rumors that Chrom himself may compete as the champion for the East-Khan; this may be the perfect opportunity to see him again.

"These tournaments are held to determine whether the East-Khan or West-Khan is to hold full power over Regna Ferox. In theory, if I were to defeat the current champion whom we are about to meet, I would almost certainly become the new representative for the West-Khan," I explain to a questioning Nyna as I scope out the arena, a large circular structure in which two decently sized teams could fit and still have room to move about. "Then perhaps I would meet my father's Shepherds in battle."

"And I'd be fighting with you, right? I mean, you're going to teach me how to use a sword by then, aren't you?" she pesters.

"I gave you a lesson."

"One lesson," the girl puts. "I haven't gotten to pick up a sword since."

"You cut me." Raising my left hand, I display the angry red line left behind where her sword tore through my glove during our attempted session.

She makes a face. "By accident."

"Accident or not, your lack of control over your sword hand worries me. How can I be sure it won't be my throat you 'accidentally' cut next?"

Our conversation is cut short before it has the chance to take any dangerous turns, halted by the arrival of the Feroxi champion. His steps echo through the suddenly silent arena as he approaches, blade already in hand. Not one for conversation, he sweeps me up and down with a stolid stare and gives a grunt as if expecting an easy win. I view him from a distance- he is more muscular than I, but stands with his weight constantly shifting from foot to food. The weapon he carries is a killing edge, unmistakable with its deadly curved blade.

"I am Lon'qu," he introduces himself without theatrics. "Send the woman away and we will fight."

Nyna doesn't need to be told twice, but she insists on glaring daggers at the myrmidon as she backs towards the door.

"May the best man win," I say, and allow him to charge first. The speed with which he moves is shocking, even when compared to me own. When I tilt Falchion to parry the initial attack, I feel the power running through Lon'qu's sword, testing it against that of my father's keepsake. The slender blade nearly gives and as he pulls away I immediately know that his incredible movement is compensation for his weapon's lack of durability. Lon'qu may be strong, but his killing edge is not. As he is forced to rely on elusiveness, my best choice is to overcome him with raw power.

Once I have discovered this, I turn aside my defensive mode in favor of a more aggressive strategy. I bombard him with vicious blows, which he chooses to evade rather than block. One of his counterattacks manages to slip through my guard, grazing my cheek dangerously close to the edge of my mask. Vowing not to allow him the chance to inflict any further damage, I begin to target his weapon. He catches on to my tactics too late; with a final, solid swipe of Falchion, I watch as the upper half of the killing edge clatters to the floor. Lon'qu stares at the jagged remains in his hand, his eyes slits of fury. At first I expect him to continue battling with what he still holds, but then he tosses it aside, no longer compelled to continue.

"Ha! Unbelievable!" crows a voice from beside the double-doored entrance to the arena, where I see the West-Khan Basilio standing beside Nyna. He approaches and gives me a hearty pat on the back as I slide Falchion back into its sheath. "I never thought anyone'd be able to beat Lon'qu, but it looks like even old Basilio is wrong sometimes!" he grins.

Nyna's reaction takes me by surprise. I had thought she would act nonchalant, even disappointed that I was not crushed like a fly, but her attitude is nothing less than overjoyed. She runs to wrap me in a hug, nearly squeezing every last bit of air from my lungs. "Ha!" she laughs. "You kicked his butt! I knew you would!"

"Oh, really?" I question as soon as I have room to breathe again, raising an eyebrow at her. "If I recall, you were looking forward to my defeat just this morning."

While this plays out, Lon'qu remains silent and does not move except to jerk away when Nyna moves too close for his liking. I can see in his eyes that he is as surprised as Basilio that I bested him with so little difficulty, even if he chooses to say nothing of it.

"Looks like we've got ourselves a new champion," Khan Basilio continues. "I'd like to see Flavia dare to even show up!" His attention turns to the myrmidon. "Hey, you stick around. I may have a job for you yet."

"He seems sure of himself," Nyna says to me as both Basilio and Lon'qu leave the arena. We watch the doors creak shut behind them before following suit.

"He has reason to. If what I have heard is true, he has been the reigning Khan for many years now. I fear he may be underestimating the strength of the shepherds, though." "You think we'll lose?"

"We may." The concept of defeat does not bother me presently. This is one battle I can afford to lose.

Still, as I direct my own men to their beginning stations in the arena, I can feel the competitive fire burning in my blood. I have to win, for the sake of my own foolish dignity.

The Shepherds make their entrance, exchanging whispers among themselves and positioning themselves on the field like the pawns of a game my mother once taught me.

"Hey." Chrom's voice resonates boldly across the space. "Answer me this: why is it that you keep showing up everywhere we go?"

Because you are my family. Because I am just as drawn to danger as you are. Because you refuse to listen. None of these are statements I want to voice aloud. So I remain stoic, pressing my mouth into a firm line without any sort of apology.

"Alright, you don't need to talk. Let our swords speak for us!" He reaches for his Falchion, and I mirror him, spinning the blade to point at him. His face lights with surprise upon seeing a perfect replica of his sword, of which there is only one. "Where-" he begins, but never is able to finish the question. Our blades lock when I lunge, allowing me to gauge his strength. Following with a flurry of glancing swipes, I find myself pushed back as he meets every one of them with a powerful shove. With our positions reversed, I parry his attacks while simultaneously turning my body to shuffle past him. He falters, and I leap for the gap in his defense. His recovery is faster than I anticipated- my blade fails to fall any closer to landing a hit than it already has.

"Who taught you to fight like that?" he grunts as Falchion meets Falchion again. I jerk back, summoning the power to jump and swing my weapon down towards his head. He pulls aside so that I pass him, boots skidding on the floor, back where I began.

"I learned," I pant. "From my father."

During this time, neither of our groups has made any move. Short of breath, sweat glistening on his forehead, Chrom waves his Shepherds forward. I raise my hand in a gesture for my own Feroxi men to advance before falling behind to recover. We are greeted by impressive strength from the Ylisseans; two tall axemen bear down on a Shepherd with smug grins on their dilapidated faces, only to be driven back by a crackling burst of flame. I see my mother charging straight at the enemy, jeering with words that would unsettle even the most vulgar of ruffians.

I am shocked- even frustrated- to find several of my fighters already retreating to lick their wounds, suddenly acting afraid to continue fighting. Two or three are unconscious. The mercenary in front of me lurches backward with an arrow in his shoulder. I cannot delay any longer. Another man goes down in a flash of bright electricity- secretly, I hope Nyna is watching- and I step around him to meet his assailant. An unfamiliar face greets me, and there is no recognition in the dark green eyes. His face his framed by a shock of wavy brown hair, matted slightly with blood from a wound on the side of his head. There is a tome tucked under his arm, which he slips into a large pocket inside his robe before crossing his arm over to draw an iron sword.

"This is a better match, yes?" he says. His sword arm is perfectly steady, his grip firm.

"May the best man win." This time I do not need to test his competence with a blade. From his first move it is clear that he may be better than even Chrom. I never knew him in the future I came from; my father and the other senior Shepherds were very fond of him, though they would not tell me what happened to him or where he went. All I know is that he disappeared on the same night my father was killed, and I have often wondered if he met the same dark fate. His name- Alek, a title not native to Ylisse- is well known to me, as are his skills in battle.

He alternates between offensive and defensive, taking hits and returning them in a swift rhythm of blocking and stabbing. The routine quickly grows predictable, but when I time a break through his guard he grins as if to say "fooled you!" and changes his approach entirely. His reflexes are amazing and he moves now with a grace I have only seen in pegasi and dragons. Once, then twice, he taps his sword against my shoulder without cutting, then swings his entire arm horizontally. I have enough time to evade, narrowing my eyes. Is he taunting me? Feinting sideways, I fake losing my balance realistically enough to provoke him to attack. He realizes the trick too slowly and my Falchion greets him, connecting at last with his side and clashing against a concealed plate of armor with enough force to bruise the skin beneath.

"Your fighting style is similar to Chrom's," he observes, the words puffing in and out with his shallow breaths. "But you have your own techniques as well." There is approval, maybe even admiration, in that statement. Even if his approval is not my top priority, I feel a small twinge of pride, which I keep latent.

After staring each other down for a seemingly indefinite amount of time, we move again, and our motions feel tired and sluggish. My reactions are slower, allowing for more chances past my defense. Finally, he drives me back and our swords collide. He has the advantage, managing to wrestle my blade from my hand by forcing my arm to twist until I hiss with pain and let go. Rather than giving me a chance to grab it, he blocks me from it and slashes his sword across my torso, earning an immediate blossom of blood across the front of my tunic. I stagger backwards, then fall, pressing a hand to the stickiness of the wound.

"Done?" Alek smiles as if hearing a joke, noting that I make no attempt to get up. "Good."

I close my eyes for a moment as the rest of the Shepherds near, breathing hard and trying to ignore the pain. Everyone is speaking at once, with their own thoughts and interjections.

"Great job, Alek! That was fantastic!"

"Hey, Teach helped too! What's it gonna take to get a little credit over here?"

"I have deduced from this experience that your exemplary stratagem will be an inevitably critical element of our comprehensive success."

"Yeah, that was fun! But now I'm starving..."

"I knew we'd win... hello? Isn't anybody going to agree with me?"

"Weren't you a little harsh on him?" This last inquiry is from my aunt Lissa, who shies away when I stand up. Nobody responds and she shrugs, turning back towards Chrom and allowing me to slink away without drawing any further attention.


End file.
